


Of Love, Rivalry And Fine Manicured Hands

by mezzafredda



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Explicit Language, Humor, Language Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mezzafredda/pseuds/mezzafredda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Secret Hanukkah 2009.<br/>Original prompt by zoi_no_miko: "<i>Someone secretly likes Archie being the poofiest poof that ever poofed and falls embarrassingly hard for it.</i>"<br/>Featuring redneck!Aldo and superpoofy!Archie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Love, Rivalry And Fine Manicured Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zoi_no_miko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/gifts).



> Special thanks to keeraa, my first and only beta.

\---  
"What the hell is this?" Aldo was so taken aback that he didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or get really mad at the fucking Brit. He stood in the doorway of the hotel room - if it even was a hotel, the fucking slum in the fucking French countryside - seemingly refusing to step in, as if nothing had ever repulsed him more than tasteless furniture. His dark gaze moved hopelessly from one piece to another, and all that met his eye was kitschy kitsch kitsch.

"Really, Arch, what's this all about? Are we on a fucking honeymoon?" He eyed the plush curtains, the badly-painted picture of a naked nymph on the wall, the double bed with the crumpled velvet blanket on it.

"I have no idea," the Brit replied with a smile of optimistic joy, "Whatever you want to call it." He was doubtless surprised about the room, but, unlike Aldo, he didn't mind.

"Really," he chuckled, beaming at the bare-assed nymph, "It's so bad it's almost funny. If this is the best room for two that they have to offer..."

He shook his head and put his bag down. "But, well, it doesn't matter. We'll only stay here for a couple of days. Besides, it's not like we are going to--"

He went on chattering, but the commander lost track of his thoughts. The unfamiliar English accent sounded strange - so strange that it was like a whole different language, unless Aldo paid attention, which he didn't. He sat on the pretentious pseudo-Renaissance couch, knees apart, shins crossed on the coffee table stained with dried imprints of cups and glasses. The seat wasn't uncomfortable, it was - well, it was okay; at least the springs were not sticking into his ass. And it was a pleasure to sit down at last, after a hard day - for the day had been hard indeed, and he was quite amazed to see the Brit so full of energy. He arrived in the morning, looking dead tired; he nearly dozed off in the car, but then he found a brothel in the nearest town - a brothel, for fuck's sake! - and disappeared there, and was back in an hour and a half, now fresh and precise again. A hot shower, he explained casually, a massage, then a shave and a bit of brilliantine in the hair, - pretty much everything he had been longing for. A faggot's treat, Aldo thought at that, but it didn't really bother him.

Until now, when they were alone in this lousy room for newlyweds. He knew he should have prepared everything himself, but the Brit said he spoke French; he really did, and he also had this ability to fag up everything he touched. The landlady, a scrawny woman in her fifties, gave them the key and the dirtiest look ever; Aldo didn't think much of it half an hour ago, but now he was wondering if she had taken them for sneaky lovers. Much to his own surprise, he didn't find the presumption sickening - it was just... lame. How could it ever work, considering they had nothing in common?

Hicox had probably noticed the American's extreme inattention, but he didn't look like it affected him at all. He had been silent for a few minutes now, pacing gracefully up and down the room, unpacking all the things he might as well leave in the bag; he was either enjoying this womanish kind of pastime or just being a prig and a bore. Aldo, for one, never bothered with keeping the house - the only thing he demanded of an apartment was that everything must be at hand. His place was always a mess. And now he could not decide whether this passion for putting things in their places was more of a strength or a weakness. But at least the Brit seemed happy.

"So, Arch, what exactly did you do at the front? Are you even a battle officer?" Raine asked with a smirk.

"Why, of course I am," Archie answered amusedly. "What makes you ask?"

"Just wondering, you know. You look like you never got out of the car."

Hicox blushed a little and licked his lips, as if he were unsure whether offence had been meant.

"I was the commander's assistant," he gave a sigh, "Before he was killed. Then there was another leader, he was killed as well. Then I was summoned to London and had the whole night to posh myself up, if you really want to know."

"Not really," Aldo chortled. "I bet you've never even held a shovel in those womanish hands of yours."

"I haven't," Archie admitted with a gentle smile. "When you were learning to dig trenches I was at Eton, studying history and drama and what not."

That powerful word had no effect on Aldo - or, rather, the effect was reduced by his ignorance of what the hell Eton was. But he got the main idea.

"Do you think I'm that dumb?" He got all sulky at once. The Brit returned an innocent glance.

"Not dumb - just uneducated. But it's not like you need education. To each his own, I guess."

"Right," Aldo drawled, eyeing him cheerlessly.

"Now, would you mind my taking a shower and having a little nap? I've been pushing myself to the limit lately. One more restless night may very well result in noticeable bags under my eyes." He flinched at the thought and walked past Aldo one more time on his way to the bathroom.

"And I thought you had a fucking Eveready battery up your ass," Raine muttered, not meaning it loud enough for the Brit to hear.

"It's funny how you pronounce " _arse"_!" there was a short cheerful laugh. This time Aldo waited for him to turn on the water and then replied with an air of fulfilment:

"You know what's funny? " _Your" ___accent is funny. " _Arsehole" ___."

\---  
When it came to privacy, Lieutenant Raine was not touchy: one couldn't call him a delicate person, nor did he expect others to observe his personal space or anything like that. His lack of tact was notable. But now, watching Archie in his sleep, he felt like a Peeping Tom, or, rather, a stalker. It was the Brit who insisted that they leave the lights on, but the commander had grave doubts if " _that"_ was the idea. He told himself several times that he must stop staring - yet he went on.

Hicox looked so young - even younger than he was, almost ridiculously young in the dim light. His face was tranquil, lips curved in a little smile, eyelids quivering slightly; Aldo despised cheesy metaphors, but if long eyelashes could be compared to a butterfly's wings, then here they were. The pose, though simple and unaffected - body stretched, head turned to the side, the back of the hand raised to the forehead, as though to shield the eyes from light - was somewhat alluring, partly because of the unbuttoned shirt showing off the muscular frame.  
Something was wrong about it all, but he just could't figure what; he had stared for quite a long time before he realized what was bugging him. The Brit was very silent - and who had ever heard of a man who doesn't snore when sleeping on his back?

"You're a faggot," the American concluded loudly, yet without any malice, pleased with his own quick wits. 

Archie opened his eyes wide, then blinked, winced displeasedly, and finally sat up, knees apart, rubbing his face with the tips of his fingers in a very ladylike fashion.

"I beg your pardon?" His voice was calm, only slightly irritated, with an admirable note of surprise.

"You heard what I said, Arch." Aldo smiled. "You're the most exquisite faggot I've ever seen."

"What a classy gentleman you are, Lieutenant." He smiled back steadily. "Although there is an even nicer way to word your compliment. To which my response is - yes, I do know I look British, but thanks anyway."

"That's not it," Raine shook his head. "No shit, you look fine, but that's " _just not it"_. I see what you're doing. First you throw these glances at Stiglitz, then you bring me here and act like a pussy. Are you even trying to hide it?"

The Brit licked his lips, retaining perfect confidence, or at least pretending to be calm.

"I guess I'm after the violent kind," he confessed apologetically, "I just can't help it."

Aldo looked him up and down. He had heard about British pride and self-restraint, yet it was still amusing how easily and painlessly Hicox admitted the fact, but it was not respect that made him smile and nod. He saw a great chance before him - to get laid in a real bed, with a well-built man, without the risk of being caught.

"It's okay," he said leaning in, "I like you, too."

He expected Archie to kiss him, as they did in all these romantic movies that made him want to shoot himself, but the Brit didn't move, his smile innocent and trusting.

"It is relieving, Aldo," he said with an air of confidential openness. What a tease, the commander thought with arousing discontent as he looked into the bright azure eyes glistening in the shadow of those downy eyelashes. The elegant long palm rose to stroke his stubbly cheek, then moved down to the side of his neck, along the thick scar. Aldo winced: the silky sensation of the delicate fingers on his skin made him shudder - not because it was bad, but because it was unfamiliar... and most unwanted. No one had touched him like that in many years; he never ever let anyone mess with his neck. The scar was a mark of betrayal - and, once betrayed, he couldn't bring himself to trust people enough to let them explore it. But Archie's fingers were soft, so agonizingly gentle against this weakest spot that the American found himself shivering with guilty pleasure.

"Keep your fucking hands off my neck," he muttered, fearing that his reaction might be too obvious; he hoped that Hicox had not noticed his feverish condition, but the sly grin told him otherwise.

"Take it easy," Archie whispered and leaned closer for a tender kiss on the corner of the mouth. His lips were sweet, his breath fresh, with a scent of peppermint; his kiss was soft, until Raine grabbed him violently and pressed down with his own weight. A little gasp escaped from the Brit's chest - he responded with equal passion, though more delicately. However, as soon as Aldo moved away breathing heavily, there was the same cunning smile on the reddened lips.

"Now I see," he whispered, "You're so determined."

"Isn't it what you expected, acting all slutty?" Raine blurted out, "A slutty little slut in a slut's natural habitat."

He laughed and rolled over, now practically straddling the American.

"My charge is not hourly. Forget about time - we have all night before us."

Aldo thought of a spiteful remark at once, but he thought it best not to try Archie's patience. True, he had not slept in a bed for several weeks - but his experience in fucking subtle British guys was even less impressive; frankly speaking, he had none. And he would be a fool if he missed this wonderful chance. The Brit looked so eager and disarmingly submissive, smiling alluringly as he arched his back and kissed his way down the commander's torso, tan and studded with old scars. Refined and well-groomed as he was, he didn't seem to mind the dark complexion or the amount of wild chest hair: the look in his eyes was most inviting. In an unobtrusive attempt to lead the caressing lips lower down the happy trail, Aldo ran his fingers along the side of the pale face, contouring the fine cheekbone. Archie smiled and rubbed his cheek against the calloused palm. Then suddenly drew himself up, took the American's hand and examined his fingers with visible disapproval; his look was troubled. The commander threw a quick glance down to check what was wrong. Nothing, in fact, yet Hicox looked genuinely mortified.

"Lord!" he whispered, shaking his head. "Aldo, do you ever clip your nails? When was the last time you cleaned them?"

"What the " _fuck"_ is wrong with my nails?" Raine blazed up, "I've been oiling my gun." He glanced at the Brit defiantly, but then, figuring that it would be either a blowjob or a quarrel, added more peacefully: "In the morning."

Archie gulped and put on a strained smile.

"So have I," he demonstrated the perfect manicure, just a bit too proudly.

"Well, not all of us are polished British fags," Aldo retorted.

"Indeed, there are also shabby Yanks aplenty." Hicox rolled his eyes. "No offence intended. You see, Lieutenant, it boils down to this: you either let me shape your nails or never touch me again."

That, if anything, was a bit too much. Raine's gaze darkened, lips stiffened; seeing this, the Brit went back to his shameless yet irresistible wheedling.

"That'd be a pity," he whispered, "Because you do have beautiful fingers. So rough, so strong, so masterful. They make me fantasize about all kinds of things." His voice was low and hypnotizingly soft.

"You've got nice hands yourself!" Aldo's breath quickened a little as he felt his palm being massaged with the tips of the tapering fingers.

"But not half as hard." The Brit licked his lips very slowly. "I wonder if it will leave bruises if you grab me really tight? I'm willing to get bruised. Or scratched. The neck, the arms, the shoulders or the back - I don't care. If only your nails were tidy!"

Archie moved away from him, displaying a great deal of reluctance. The commander hated him at that moment; the provocation was so obvious it made his teeth hurt, yet he couldn't help himself.

"All right, all right," he gritted his teeth, "Do it if you must. You faggot."

\---  
It was weird to have such a delicate creature take care of his nails - weird and also pleasant. Aldo would have enjoyed it immensely, if not for his erection raging to fuck the pretty young Brit as hard as he could stand. Yet he restrained himself for now. If the damn thing was so important to Hicox, he might have it his way - the reward was surely worth the wait. The touch of the soft long fingers rubbing cream into the back of his palm was a bit ticklish; the other hand was wrapped in a warm wet towel - to smooth the skin, as it was explained to him. Whatever, the commander thought; it was all fine as long as Archie sat on the floor before him, so close as to make it impossible not think up all sorts of naughty things. The look in his eyes was thoughtful, even dreamy, but the pretend innocence was merely a thin layer on top of the deepest seduction breathing in his every gesture. And it wasn't all about his looks (which, although undeniably good, weren't that breathtaking, after all) - it was the simple perfection he held. He was so well-groomed he almost shone - an army officer, mind you, halfway through the war! Aldo bit his lower lip - attempting to feign an air of indifference - and asked, struggling to conceal his inappropriate fascination:

"Are you serious, Arch? Do you really shave your chest?"

The Brit lifted his eyebrow, as if the question startled him, then laughed softly.

"Shave? Have " _you"_ ever done such a thing? Surely I don't shave my chest - I wax it."

Aldo winced, terrified at the thought of it.

"Must hurt like hell."

"Not really." Hicox smiled. "Not so bad. Definitely not after you've done it, let's say, a dozen times. You know what does hurt? Inner thighs. Pretty tough, I must say. And if there is something that hurts like hell, then it's--"

"Naaah, I don't wanna know!" the American protested, his eyes squinted in denial. "Fuck, man, that's... just messed up. And gay, too."

"Anything but that, Lieutenant," there was a cautious little smile. "I do believe my sleek skin is not too hard to " _bear"_."

"Oh, that was fucking clever," Aldo rolled his eyes. "Now, smartass, are you going to--"

It seemed that the answer, though never worded, was a half-hearted yes; the Brit placed a kiss on the inside of his wrist, then let go of his hand, and then, oh, then those elegant long fingers rested upon Aldo's knees.

"It's a pleasure to see a wild thing like you being so tame," he whispered as his palms slid lazily up and down, not yet touching the most sensitive area, "I just can't have enough. But thanks for reminding me. Will you kindly lay down?"

He obeyed, making himself comfortable on the bed, with a pillow under his head, determined not to miss a single moment of the show. Archie stood up and removed his clothes - neither slowly nor hastily, in a very casual manner, as if he were in his own bedroom in his own house, hardly affected by the presence of the watchful American. Aldo could not help but grin, admiring the sight. The body was gorgeous: the pale complexion, the shapely waistline of a fashion model - and the strong muscles of a real fighter. He was half-erect, big enough to measure up just fine. Proud to be lusted after, he doubtless knew what effect he made on other men; he might have just lain down and spread his legs, and had Raine do the rest of the job for him. No matter how self-centered he was, he still knew he was a nice piece of ass. He seemed either reluctant or genuinely enjoying it, otherwise he wouldn't have lingered for so long. It only took him a few seconds to unbuckle Aldo's belt - what a skilled little whore, the commander thought as he bucked up his hips impatiently, willing to have the now tight pants pulled down. That, that was it: he had waited longer than he thought was possible, and now he was about to get it, finally, after all the teasing. Never had he let anyone tease him like that; he was almost painfully hard. The Brit lowered his gaze, the shiny eyes now dark with dilated pupils, and took his time to run his fingers over the old scars on the broad hairy chest. For a moment Aldo had this impulse to surprise him, to reach down with his own hand and finish with a few quick strokes, all over the conceited face. That'd teach him, such an egoistic, teasing, shameless little--

The same thought must have occurred to Hicox, because he finally bent down and stuck out the very tip of his tongue to sample the taste. One more smile curved his lips - probably the most lustful one Aldo had seen in his life.

"Not in my face, Lieutenant," Archie warned subtly. "And especially not in my hair."

"Fuck you," the American snarled - and threw back his head, and clutched at the crumpled bedsheets as the artful tongue started brushing insistently against his glans. He gritted his teeth not to let out a groan - that was one great blowjob, probably the best he had ever received. Normally Raine didn't think much of oral sex - he was circumsized, and it reduced sensitivity; everything he liked, he liked hard. The harder the better. But now even the slightest movement sent shivers down his spine, made him gasp, bite his lips and flex feverishly. He wanted to watch, he really did; the sight of his own cock between these perfect lips gave him a unique feeling of pointless glory. The beautiful fingers wrapped around the hard shaft slid up and down rhythmically, each pump bringing him closer to climax. The other hand fondled his balls, rubbing gently yet somewhat firmly. But as soon as he closed his eyes - which he simply couldn't help - all sensations blended into one ecstatic feeling. At one point, when he thought it couldn't get any better, he felt the tips of the Brit's amazing fingers, now slick with his own pre-come, press lightly against the tight entrance. It was weird, but he didn't object, relishing the new thrilling undertones. His body stretched unwillingly, it hurt a little, or perhaps more than a little - Aldo was not used to being fingered, and he had no idea what it usually felt like. The pleasure was intense, yet prolonged, ever so close to the release. And then, when he had nearly adjusted to the long bony digits inside him, the Brit pulled them out.

"Fuck you, you tease," he roared in frustration, and raised himself on his elbows, opening his eyes just in time to see-- Oh, he saw it, but he actually realized it only when he felt it, - and it hurt, it burned like hell. Aldo cursed and snarled bitterly, dug his newly-shortened nails deep into Archie's shoulders, but it merely helped the fact that was being pressed into the bed, fucked in the ass by this delusively submissive human being. He couldn't believe how easily he had been caught off guard; tears of shame started to accumulate in the corners of his eyes. It was just plain wrong: he was not supposed to be the one to yield himself; he merely wanted to oblige the man by sticking it up his. How on Earth did it come to this? Panting heavily, he looked up at the Brit, not really knowing what he wanted to see. Hicox's face was still pale, only the hollow cheeks were reddened and the eyes half-lidded. In a sudden burst of anger he jerked his hips upwards, just to make it end already. The resulting sensation made him almost cry out; he managed to hold the lustful groan, but it didn't really matter, as nothing mattered now, not even the pain. At last he knew what he wanted to do. And if he had looked at his dominator once again, he would see amazement in those eyes, shortly followed by admiration, then passion and finally pure ecstasy.

\---  
"Aldo, oh, Aldo," Hicox's voice was deep and a bit hoarse - he almost purred like a satiated cat, his uneven breath hot on the American's cheek, their bodies resting side by side. "It was amazing. You are amazing."

"Sure", Raine answered sharply, still not quite having got over the whole thing. It would be easy to forget - shit happened, and who said it was necessary to remember everything? - if he had not liked it. But he had. And the aftermath, with all these little kisses on Hicox's side, was comforting and strangely soothing. Not something he normally expected from an occasional one-night stand. "Fuck it, Arch," he said, "I don't even-- Oh fuck. Listen, it wasn't supposed to be like that. Don't get me wrong - I can do you when you feel like it, but not the other way round. Just no. I'm always the man."

He felt stupid immediately after saying it, startled by the quick glance of tender amusement. Conscious of the deepest sense of shame, he recollected all the words - most of them being obscenities - that he had muttered in the heat of the intercourse. He knew he would burn with shame if the Brit ever repeated them to his face.

"Really?" Archie raised his eyebrow, smiling softly, but restrained himself from any other display of exhilaration (as if this quiet, so typically British sneer were not bad enough itself). "It's all right, Aldo. I'm not picky when it comes to this. You should have said something. I do suggest you act more insistently next time."

"So you think there will be a next time?" Raine asked with a cruel smile, still displeased with himself and thus wanting to hurt the other man. Seriously, who had given him the right to be so pretty, his beauty so charming, his manner so bewitching? For a moment the commander was glad to see the bright azure gleam of his eyes turn into the crystal coolness of a frozen river. The change was astonishing: a frail, loving creature had been resting upon his chest a few seconds ago, and now the body was tense and the gaze grave.

"Don't fuck it up for me, Aldo," he said very quietly. "I'll do it myself eventually. I tend to fuck things up."

There was something in this bitter response that made the American ill at ease.

"Do you mean - fag things up?" he inquired, just in case.

"Do you think I'm that dumb?" With a poor attempt to grin Hicox turned over, as though to reach for cigarettes, stood up, and walked over to the window, his back still turned to the bed. "I always fuck things up," he confessed somewhat distractedly, with a strange trembling in his voice. "You have no idea. Many people would sacrifice everything to be in my place. To have my looks, my talents, my title. My opportunities in regard to all these young actresses. And I just..." He shook his head in despair.

Aldo had been in the army long enough to know how it happens. First a seemingly cheerful fella starts giving you crap like this, and next thing you know he's weeping hysterically on your shoulder. Oh, how he hated when it happened, and even more he hated it when a nice one-night stand threatened to turn into a troublesome unnecessary romance.

"Go on," Raine rose to his feet, "I'll just take a shower and return before you finish."

Archie shrugged - or was it a shudder? - and replied blankly:

"I have finished, Lieutenant.

"That's good," Aldo grinned and made his way to the bathroom, pleased with himself. A sweet feeling of accomplishment was flowing through him. He had got back at Hicox, at least emotionally, and if upsetting a true living Brit was not a delight, then he didn't know what was. Now he could call it a day.

\---  
The next day he was blaming himself for disregarding the confession - not the "if only you knew", but the "I tend to fuck things up" bit. Somehow it felt like the goddamn Brit had managed to screw him, as well as all his plans, and get away with it. And his hands began to trouble him - they felt too soft, too sensitive; he was jacking off like crazy, and his own fingers felt like someone else's.

Thankfully, it only lasted for a few days.


End file.
